41. Paris

It turned out that while I did not mind the cold, and minded it even less with wings spread, flying through the air high above, I wasn't as much a fan of it while riding urgently north. I missed the carriage I'd left Urial in.

On horseback, my thighs began to ache, a deep cold settling in my muscles that felt like it'd become a permanent part of me.

The Nemedans were adapting worse than I was. Killian was scowling, shrinking into a scarf the Vultures had provided, and I swear, I could hear Brett's teeth chattering.

I told myself that this was why, as the hours on horseback wore on, they'd both gone quiet. They were miserable, and the best thing I could do was spur us onward and hope to reach the Montagues' before dark.

When we rode up the path toward the manor's entrance, a servant came out to greet us, scowling.

I dismounted first, dropping into a bow. "Lord Paris," I announced myself. "I had the honor of Lord and Lady Montague's hospitality only a couple of months ago, and I hoped we might impose upon them again."

The servant scowled across the trio of us. Admittedly, the clothes the Vulture had been able to provide weren't the accepted cuts for Urial nobility, but when Lady Montague greeted me with delight and recognition, the air in the manor warmed considerably.

The Montagues provided us dinner, despite having already eaten themselves. So as not to be rude, they picked at their plates. They were particularly interested in talking about the steeds we'd ridden in on. The Montagues, it turned out, were responsible for some of the finest stables in the kingdom and traded regularly with the Vulture clan just south of the border. They were more accepting of Nemedan company and custom than I'd anticipated, and I was glad not to have to hedge any affront before reaching the capital.

But all through dinner, Killian talked far more than Brett, and no matter how many times I tried to catch his eye, Brett glanced away from me. Something was wrong, and my stomach twisted up with nerves.

Perhaps he regretted coming this far north.

I played back through the day in my head, wondering if I'd somehow insulted the Vulture clan while we were there, or had embarrassed him in front of Killian. I couldn't fathom what I might've done to upset him. Nevertheless, he seemed upset.

After dinner and a fine dessert of honeycomb and some kind of thickened sweet cream, they sent us to bed—three separate rooms, again, though these were more opulently furnished than those in the Vulture clan's summer homes.

They even had a proper night shirt, finely woven, loose, and comfortable. Though I noted that the bedding in Hawk lands was more comfortable.

Once the house had gone quiet and I was certain I wouldn't be caught sneaking around, I tiptoed across the hall to Brett's room and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" he called.

I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.

When I caught Brett's eye, he had a pinched expression. He'd sucked his cheeks between his teeth and looked distinctly uncomfortable, even as he reclined in his bed.

"I was wondering if we might talk?" I whispered.

"Yes," Brett said, "if you'd like."

With a rough swallow, I leaned back against the door and bit my lip. Nothing in the way Brett stared up at me, his eyes wide and brow pinched, struck me as welcoming.

"Did I do something to offend you?" I asked, my voice small.

Perhaps it was simply that we'd travelled far, and Brett was realizing how I'd taken him from his people, having second thoughts about his presence in Urial when his people were dealing with the worst snows they'd seen in years.

"Of course not."

I bit the tip of my tongue between my front teeth. "I, um, I don't think it's that obvious, actually. It's just... you barely looked my way at dinner. You've hardly spoken to me since this morning. Is it—are you really that concerned about a war with Urial?"

Brett's eyelids fluttered and he glanced away.

He was.

My heart clenched uncomfortably, and I dropped my head. "I won't tell," I croaked. "I can't keep secrets from my family, but that's only Hector and Helena now, and if I ask—they wouldn't betray me. I'll ask them not to tell a soul about how I've—how I've changed."

Brett hissed. "You shouldn't have to keep secrets from anyone."

I flinched into my shoulders and tried to play it off like a shrug. "It's fine. I don't want you to"—I swallowed roughly—"to be afraid, or to think you've put any of your people at risk because of me." I gripped my elbow, digging my thumb into the bend of it. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what might happen?—"

"You're sorry?" he asked, incredulously.

I gave another shrug. "Yes? No. Not exactly. But I don't want to be something you regret, so I swear, I won't tell. I'll?—"

What? I didn't know what came next. The Montagues hadn't known any more about the chaos at court than I had—only that Prince Tybalt was engaged, and I wasn't sure what to do with that information yet. I didn't want to look at it too closely.

Maybe I could go back to the Hawk Clan, but that would mean leaving my family behind.

If Hector was sick, they needed me. And gods forbid anything actually happened to him. I couldn't leave Helena alone at court. It didn't matter if I had to keep my owl a secret for the rest of my life, never fly again, so long as I knew she was safe.

It wasn't like most people ever got to fly in the first place. How could I regret even a small taste of it?

The wooden bed frame creaked as Brett got up and crossed the room.

"Paris—" He reached out but came up short, and when I looked up at him, his face crumpled. At least then, he put his warm palm against my cheek and swiped his thumb across it. He smeared a wet tear across my skin. I hadn't realized I was crying.

"It's not you," he whispered. "It's not what I think you might tell. I can't say I'm not nervous, but I... what Killian said, about falling—falling in love?—"

I blinked. "Oh, that."

Brett made a small, punched-out sound, almost like I'd hurt him.

Quickly, I shook my head. "Esmerelda already told me. Or, well, she wasn't quite so frank about it as Killian, but she described love as—as a kind of quickening for Avianitis. That it's magical and chemical and not entirely under a person's control. But she implied that you might—that you might have feelings for, um, for me?"

Brett's tongue darted nervously between his lips. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

I couldn't meet his eye when he looked so hurt and hesitant. Letting my weight tip forward, I dropped my forehead against his shoulder and shut my eyes.

"I didn't want to bring it up," I muttered, "because I don't—I don't entirely trust myself. I thought I loved Tybalt—loved him entirely. I was planning the rest of my life around being at his side, and then the moment I left for Nemeda, I realized I'd been deluding myself—at least about his feelings. And maybe about his character. Hector is—is not a fan of his, and generally speaking, my brother's a sound judge of both character and circumstance. But how could I be so sure of him, and then—then you? Either I'm flighty and romantic and easily swayed by the tiniest scrap of attention or, well, I don't know. But that night in Esmerelda's cabin, I told you I was confused. I still am. I think I'm a fool. What if I mislead you? What if I mislead myself again? I just—I don't want to make things worse, and already, you've risked so much."

Brett sighed. Slowly, he lifted his arms and wrapped them loosely around my waist.

It felt like acceptance, and I nuzzled in closer to him. "I understand," he whispered, "though it's hard to imagine you doing anything but improving, well, everything."

I laughed into the crook of his neck. After a moment, I could shake my head and managed to lift my cheek from his shoulder. "Could I stay tonight? I'd... like to, if you don't mind that I'm a bit of a mess."

Brett looked down at me, his green eyes searching my face for only a moment before he nodded.

And once he crawled into bed, I wiggled up beside him, letting my head rest on his arm and trying to tell myself that I could have this, even if I was a disaster of a diplomat. A disaster of a man.